Alone, in empty halls of drained white and blue walks a young girl. Her heels click against the pristine stone, echoing like the violent crack of a gavel. She sighs, breath bearing the barest hint of smoke.
Suddenly, her steady march slows, until finally, she stops. At her sides, her gauntleted hands curl, metal creaking and groaning. Silence rings in her ears, and she hates it.
She hates the cold and quiet of her domain. The unnatural pristine quality of the walls and floors that, on days when it is permitted true light, reflect her glaring features back at her.
She takes a breath, cooling her rising thoughts before they can heat fully, then resumes her trek. And if she moves a bit quicker, her steps a touch heavier, well, there is no one around to judge her for it.
Only once she steps outside, down the sharp steps, just past the edges of her domain does she permit herself a sliver of emotion.
Her heterochromatic jewel eyes burn, and she moves faster, steps turning clumsy as she rushes, vision blurring. She does not stop until she reaches His (theirs, it is supposed to be theirs) door, throwing herself against the gleaming metal and bursting inside, collapsing on her knees. Her shoulders tremble as heavy measured steps quickly approach. She looks up, seeing only smudges of color, tears already beginning the slow agonising trek down her round childish cheeks. Without hesitation, large warm arms wrapped in golden armor scoop her up and begin walking away from the door.
A whimper escapes her tight lips, so she presses closer, her cheek and nose squished against His chest, her small fragile soul seeking His brighter, stronger one.
Melchior makes no complaint, only continues on. He speaks quickly and quietly to some subordinates they pass, though their voices are muffled, as if she were underwater.
Soon, far too soon, they arrive, and she must part from His warmth, her small body set down and cradled in a swath of thick blankets. He removes her armor, and she breaths easier with the loss of metal, and then clips His cape around her tiny shoulders; all gold and warm. She sinks into the silken cloth and sniffs, pulling her boney knees to her chest, drowning in the fabric, filling her lungs with His scent.
Through cotton filled ears she hears the clank of metal, and them He joins her, pulling her unresisting frame against His. The hand that had been previously squeezing her chest flees, and exhaustion tugs at her bones. She shuts her eyes and snuggles closer, sniffling again.
He doesn’t ask what set her off this time, and truth be told, she wouldn’t have been able to answer anyway.
Tomorrow, she will go back to her post. She will put her mask on, bear its crushing weight and do what she must. She will heft her axe without complaint and judge the souls of the mortal plane. She will act like everything is fine, that she can handle her duties without strain, that she is just as strong as the rest of the Council.
But tonight, she will be Kai; the child who wishes her family was whole.